Golden Gateway
by Incomprehensible
Summary: Ryoma can almost taste the anxiety on his tongue as it bubbles through his blood, setting his veins on fire.


Characters and plot belong to their rightful owners.

**Golden Gateway**

There's a sort of satisfaction Fuji feels as he lays on the creamy white sheets that explain everything and nothing that belongs to a hospital room.

The almost-dawn, pearlescent light filters in through the somewhat-closed shutters and splays over the bed he so feebly rests on.

Fuji has lived in this room for the last six months, and he isn't getting any younger; he isn't getting any healthier, either.

From the corner of his eye, Fuji can see the picture his son has made him: the colouring scribbled and impatient and the figures depicted stick-like; the heads too big to fit on the twigish neck and torso, the legs too skinny to support its body and the arms so thin that they're barely there at all. Despite its misgivings, the picture twisted his heart.

There are no other signs of life in the room besides the steady _beep, beep, beep_ing of the heart monitor and the steady-dripping IV attached to his arm. There are many tubes that help stabilize Fuji's heart, none of which actually do anything useful, he thinks bitterly, his eyes portraying the askance he dares not utter.

Nurses are scary beings, and doctors far too prideful to take the question at heart.

Fuji has a wife and three kids. Fuji has a dog, and lives in the old temple Echizen's family used to own, but his wife doesn't know. As far as she's concerned, they only bought the place because it had a tennis court.

Fuji figures that what she doesn't know won't hurt her, and anyways, he isn't going to tell her.

There is an ominous hush over the room, and Fuji can see the beginning of the sunrise over Tokyo. The fiery orb heralds the new day and Fuji seals his eyes shut to block out the light.

It will be painful; this he knows well, but there is no turning back from where he is going.

There is a faint glimmer as the sunlight hits the rim of an empty Ponta can on the stand beside him.

Fuji grimaces as he removes the tubes and slides the IV drip from his arm.

He remembers hearing the heart monitor's steady tone that declares his death, and then he is gone, gone, gone.

–

The clouds seem high to Ryoma, who stands on the tuft of white silver-lit by soft pinks and oranges as the sun rises. Yes, the clouds seem especially high this morning.

The gleaming golden gate stands before him and he feels a sense of giddy nervousness course through his chest as he waits. The anticipation is killing him, and he fights back the urge to hop from one foot to the other.

It's damn cold out this early, and if the occasion wasn't so damn important, Ryoma would have been dead asleep in his warm haven, dreams of his beloved cat and snow (something Ryoma hasn't seen in a _very_ long time) flitting through his mind, but as it is, there is nothing that can stop him now.

The sun is rising higher in the sky, the rich colour perforating the crisp morning air and leaving cylindrical shafts of the golden-yellow light behind. The gates shine brightly, almost blinding him, but he doesn't mind. Very soon now, they will come.

Ryoma can almost taste the anxiety on his tongue as it bubbles through his blood, setting his veins on fire.

It's been a long time since he's stood outside the gates, and even longer since he's felt such a myriad of alluring emotions swelling beneath his chest. The emotions make his ribs itch and he scowls at his sentiment, uttering a barely-audible "Che" into the morning, the single syllable turning into a white puff of air as it leaves his mouth.

Ryoma wishes he has a can of Ponta with him – anything to occupy his hands and keep him from fidgeting.

Ryoma hasn't fidgeted since coming to the place. If he keeps this up, the carefully built reputation he has set up for himself will be ruined.

There is a high-pitched squeak below him, and Ryoma watches as the barrier is broken. With a loud groan, the huge, golden-spire gates tremble and slowly open. This is his second time seeing them open and he is no less awed by it as the first time he's seen it.

From where he stands, Ryoma can almost make out the figure on the other side: tall and lean, almost glowing in dawn's golden rays, almost glowing by the backlight like a halo. The sight nearly takes his breath away and he pulls the bill of his cap over his eyes.

After twelve and a half years he still hasn't been able to break the habit.

The figure steps closer, out of the light and through the gates.

Ryoma smirks arrogantly, tipping his hat to the side and staring at his guest with one unerringly golden eye.

"_Syuusuke."_


End file.
